Operation Santa Claws
by Rain Crow
Summary: Fat Cat has a perfect plan for a night of villainous charity...
1. Chapter 1

The Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. Any resemblance to characters, real or imaginary, is completely intentional. The author is not making any money off of this story, but I really don't see why y'all can't pitch a dime or two my way seeing as how Disney hasn't done anything with this show in over twenty years…

**Operation Santa Claws**  
>Writ and Edited by Rain Crow<br>(so blame all spelling errors on the editor)

**Despite **the fact that it dawned cloudless and sunny, December 24th turned out to be a cold day in the city. A white blanket of crisp, pure snow had fallen the night before and had, in due course, been turned into a gray slush by the morning rush-hour, muttering office workers trudging to work, and the municipal salt trucks. Only within the parks and on the tops of buildings did the snow remain to be enjoyed by people and critters who were possessed by the joyous Christmas spirit of peace and brotherhood; and so, at the beginning of our tale, we find four animals starting their celebration of the season in the most appropriate way that they know...

***SLAP!***

"Hey!" Yelled Wart; his raspy, reptilian voice echoed underneath the hollow, grinning statue that dominated the roof of the Happy Tom cat food factory. The large iguana quickly brushed melting snow from the back of his head, "What's the big idea, ganging up on me? I'm cold blooded!"

Snout, warm under his denim coat and fur, grinned at his quivering colleague, winked one of his small ratty eyes, and cast about for another handful of snow to hurl at the reptile. Mepps, a cat who might have been described as truly "ratty" looking if it wouldn't have offended Snout, was busy putting small rocks and bits of frozen tar into his next snow ball.

"It's the most fun you'll have under the sun!" He called out happily in his coarse, whining voice, reading a billboard across the street that advertised winter getaways to Hawaii. The tattered cat lifted his snowball, aiming at Wart, who was now scuttling across the roof in search of better cover, when a snowball pegged him right on the inside of his ear. Mepps staggered, mewing pathetically and accidentally slapping his own snowball onto his snout in his haste to clear the cold, melting snow from his ragged ear.

"Hah," laughed Mole, who was, appropriately, an abnormally large and astonishingly stupid mole, "got you Wart!"

"You got me!" Mepps snapped as he tried to knock the snow out of one ear by slapping the other side of his head, "Wart's the lizard!"

"Oh, yeah," Mole squinted at his erstwhile target, "I knew that."

Before Mepps could take issue with that statement, a pair of loudspeakers mounted on either end of the Happy Tom statue blasted out a loud, ear scratching burst of static before a suave, even voice thundered across the roof top.

"Minions," called the voice of Fat Cat, the boss of the four combatants, "stop goofing off and come to the office! We have a Christmas party to plan!"

The henchmen groaned mutinously as they dropped handfuls of snow and moved under the bottom of Happy Tom's head, where Wart had opened a trap door and ladder that led up into the interior of the statue, where Fat Cat had his office. They'd been hoping to be let off work for Christmas.

-

Fat Cat was sitting majestically behind his desk when his employees entered his office. He thought they looked a bit disgruntled, but dismissed the observation since they often wore dissatisfied expressions right before he let them in on one of his brilliant schemes.

"Ah, my loyal lackeys!" He began enthusiastically as they assembled before him, "As I said, you'll all be privileged to participate in-"

"But, Boss," Fat Cat's eyes widened in shock as Mepps interrupted his explanation of the glorious work that they were to do that night, "I thought you said we wouldn't have to work this Christmas."

Fat Cat stared at them, his mouth still open. Silence filled the office like the stale air of a tomb. The other gangsters edged away from Mepps. After a small eternity the synapses that connected the ragged looking cat's sense of self preservation to his mouth fired and he had the good sense to cringe, looking away from the larger feline. "Sorry!"

The Head Gangster stared down at the trembling cat for a moment longer before drawing on his reserve of Christmas Cheer and refraining from turning Mepps into a stuffed, unsightly chew toy. "May I go on?" He asked lightly. There was a flurry of enthusiastic head nodding.

"As I said," Fat Cat continued, pulling out a map of the city that had a number of points circled in red or marked by green X's, "you will all be privileged to participate in this year's most compassionate caper, for I have devised a plan that will go down in history as a shining example of my magnanimous magnitude!

Wart scratched his head, "You're going to send out a Christmas swimsuit calendar?" He asked, trying to decide if people would care to see _that _kind of example of Fat Cat's magnitude.

"No, you benighted buffoon," Fat Cat said as he closed his eyes in frustration, "we're robbing some toy stores!"

Fat Cat opened his eyes, expecting glorious applause to great his revelation, or at least to see comprehension dawn in the dim eyes of his underlings. What he saw, instead, was mild shock and, in Mole's case, the beginnings of a sentient thought. This last fascinated Fat Cat because he had never before seen Mole really _try _to think.

As the others looked at each other, or at the floor, Mole squinted his eyes even more than usual, concentrated, and finally spoke the notion that he had so laboriously put together in his mind, "Gee, Boss, we can't rob a toy store today. That'd get us on the naughty list, and then Santa wouldn't bring us any treats!"

The other small villains looked relieved that Mole had spoken their doubts, except for Snout, who didn't believe in Santa but wanted the night off regardless.

"Why, Mole," Fat Cat purred, "I'm impressed. You've spotted what the consequences of our actions might bee, should our actions indeed be naughty." He smiled, "But, rest assured, what we will do tonight will not only be considered nice, but will most likely clear any other misdeeds you may have accidentally committed while carrying out my orders this year, thus assuring you a place on the List of those Who are Nice."

Fat Cat decided that a visual aid was needed, and before any of the small simpletons could understand or object, he reached under his desk and pulled out the centerpiece to his holiday heist.

"Behold!" He cried, holding high a bright red coat and a long stocking cap. They were perfect; detailed even to the point of having white fur trim around the collar and cuffs, while the hat sported a white, fluffy ball at its tip. It seemed to shine with a kindly light inside of the windowless office. Mole, Mepps, Snout and Wart all stared at it in Wonder.

"Ohhhhhh..." They breathed.

"With this," Fat Cat grinned, "We shall bring hope to those who have given up, and joy to the joyless! Gentlemen," he looked at the assembly, and seemed magnified in their eyes as he leapt atop his desk and triumphantly, and at long last, laid out his plan for the evening, "we will rob the toy stores not for profit or pleasure, but to deliver toys to orphans who've no family with whom they can celebrate this day, thus bringing Glory to my name and complying with my New Year's resolution to be known for generosity as well as genius!"

Mole clapped, but the others stood flabbergasted as their boss stripped off his regular, violet hued suit and pulled on the Big Red Coat. It had to be admitted that Fat Cat made an excellent looking Santa in that he was very round, and very merry in an evil sort of way.

The image was shattered when he put on the Cap, pulled out a city map with a number of locations circled in red, pointed towards the door and said, "This will make me a legend! Now get some bags and get going you fools; Operation Santa Claws has begun!"

-

Later that day a man could have looked up and seen an odd looking contraption soaring over the West Side, not far from Cat Alley and the Bee-Kay Toy Store.

"We should be at home drinking hot chocolate and watching Rudolph." Dale grumbled as he tried to burrow even deeper inside of his bright orange coat. The Rescue Rangers had been on patrol in the Ranger Plane for HOURS, and it was starting to get dark. Weren't chipmunks supposed to _hibernate _this time of year?

Chip, Dale's best friend and the author of his current misery, whirled around in the copilot's seat to give Dale an exasperated look. "We've only been out for a little while, Dale, and besides it's part of our job to make sure everything is okay before we take a break. That's part of what being a Rescue Ranger is all about!" Chip didn't seem to be as affected by the cold as his friend, perhaps because he was sitting next to Gadget, who was banking the plane around slowly in order to point them back towards headquarters without Chip noticing.

"Gee, C-Chip," the inventor chattered as she tried, and failed, to control the shivering that had taken over her body, "maybe we should call it a day. I m-mean, we have been out since lunch, and th-thing's seem quiet enough."

"Yeah, Chippa' me lad," rumbled Monterey Jack from the back, where he was seated next to Dale and beginning to wonder if his macho image would be injured by huddling with the shivering chipmunk, "it's one thing to be dedicated to the job, but it's Christmas Eve!"

"And FREEZING!" Squeaked Zipper, who was by now a VERY blue fly; the cold was especially hard on him, as small as he was, even inside of the nest he'd made inside of Monty's coat. The tiniest Ranger was having serious regrets about not staying behind at the tree. He could have been shaking his presents and, as Dale had said, drinking hot chocolate.

Chip hesitated, realizing that he was drifting into a place that Dale liked to call his 'obsessive dedication to duty that makes everyone else late even if they'd bought tickets a whole month before and nothing happened until after the show anyway' zone. It was something the fedora wearing rodent was trying to work on.

He smiled at his teammates. "Okay, you're right. Let's go home; it's not like anything's going to happen at the last min-"

"Hey," Dale called, looking over the side of the Plane, "what's Santa doing at a toy store?"

The others all looked at him strangely before asking the same question, "What?"

Dale looked a bit taken aback. "Well," he began, slowly, "you'd think he'd have all the toy's ready before he left the North Pole!"

Monty, and by extension Zipper, crowded over to look over Dale's shoulder to where the chipmunk was pointing. "Eh, the lad's right! There he is, big as life!"

Gadget and Chip saw what had captured Dale's attention when Gadget swung the Plane around to get a better look. Sure enough, there was a rotund, red clad figure half hidden under a bulging burlap sack as it hopped across the snow covered roof of the Bee-Kay Toy Store.

"Bit odd, Santa hoofin' it; especially on a day like this. "Monty said while he stroked his mustache contemplatively. "A bit early too. You think he's getting a jump on things this year?"

Zipper shrugged, but figured that the jolly Christmas elf might have had to advance his schedule a bit since the world population had exploded in the last half century. "Maybe skipped Canada?" He squeaked, managing to keep his teeth from clattering up the sparse sentence.

"Or maybe he'll hit 'em on the way back." Dale nodded, still peering at the dazzling vision, which seemed to grow larger as the Plane closed in on the building's roof.

Chip hushed the backseat discussion with a sharp gesture. "That's not the real Santa! It's too small." The others gave him a defiant glare before looking away, a bit miffed at his imperious declaration.

"Now, Chip," Gadget said, looking at him crossly, "You don't know that for sure. We've never seen the real Santa; maybe he's smaller in person?"

Not wanting to argue with Gadget, Chip let it go with a sigh and looked ahead again only to cry out in alarm, "Gadget, the roof!"

"Golly!" was all Gadget had time to say as the soft looking, snow covered roof rushed up at her. She reached down and pulled a yellow knob on the control panel causing a jet of compressed air to explode loudly from the Plane and into the roof, sending a vast cloud of snow in all directions while slowing their momentum and adjusting the angle of the Plane's decent. The inventor quickly set the vehicle down on the roof, now mostly cleared of snow, and made sure the suction cup's on its legs were firmly attached to the impromptu landing pad before looking at the others with a sheepish grin. "Sorry guys, I forgot to tell you about the new emergency landing jets I'd installed last week, but I think they tested great just now, don't you think?"

And with that, she hopped out of the Ranger Plane, leaving her four traumatized teammates frozen in their various, terrified poses.

"Tested?" Dale asked, utterly still; his frightened quivering had collided with his cold induced shivering, each canceling out the other.

"Just now?" Zipper squeaked, belatedly remembering that he could fly without mechanical assistance. He vowed to leave the Plane during landings in the future.

Monty just kissed a handful of lucky charms he'd worn around his neck and wrists. Chip recovered his wits and gave the older adventurer a shaky smile. "Any landing you can walk away from, huh?" He said, and jumped out of the Plane to join Gadget over by the edge of the building.

-

Fat Cat brushed off the skiff of snow that had settled over him and the alley that he'd fled into when he had heard a familiar, alarmed shout from above him back up on the roof. Those Wretched Rescue Rodents! They were riding that infernal flying bleach bottle; Fat Cat had seen it just as he'd jumped over the ledge and onto a fire escape, nearly losing the overloaded bag that he had slung over his back, and slid down to the bottom of the three story building. They had fired something at him, he was sure. There had been a loud noise and snow had risen up and fallen all over the roof and into the cluttered alley.

How could they have known about his brilliant plan? Were they _spying _on him? Didn't they ever take a day off? Weren't they supposed to be hibernating?

The corpulent crime lord saw red. He knew he could take four rodents and a fly, but those blasted vehicles that they wielded against him always had some kind of nasty surprise. "And besides," he said to himself after mastering his anger, "I can't very well kill my enemies on Christmas Eve. It should be a birthday present to me!"

He looked up, hearing a faint commotion, and saw a mouse, the female, looking down at him. She looked surprised. Fat Cat grinned at her, turned, and fled down the alley towards the rendezvous point where he would meet his (hopefully) successful gang. Her shout, "Hey, it's Fat Cat!" echoed behind him.

Monterey wasn't cold anymore. The shot of adrenalin that had jolted through his system when Gadget had yelled that it was Fat Cat that they had been spying on made the foggy air that he breathed out seem more like the hot exhaust produced by a high-octane engine.

At least that's what he told himself as he puffed away, winding the main spring of Gadget's newest, and biggest plunger cannon, which she'd mounted on the back of the Ranger Plane that morning, saying something about the team needing a long shot and being eager to try it out. The mustachioed mouse was ignorant of the workings behind the mechanism, aside from need to rotate a winch handle to reset the spring after it had been fired, but couldn't argue with its usefulness or power. They'd already used the BFP (the Big Freakin' Plunger, as Dale had christened it) to knock Fat Cat sprawling as they chased him through a labyrinth of alleys and vacant back streets.

Of course, Gadget hadn't planned to do _that _to the big kitty. Chip had been aiming for the overlarge sack that covered the criminal's back. The lad had hit the mark, but the rough material of the bag, combined with its uneven surface prevented the plunger from creating enough suction to stick, thus preventing the Rangers from retrieving Fat Cat's loot from the air. That hadn't prevented the kinetic energy from the plunger being transferred into Fat Cat resulting in him being driven into a dappled gray snow bank and the sack spilling some of its contents upon the alley floor.

"What's Fat Cat want with a doll or a football?" Gadget asked as she took the Plane up, using their advantage of mobility and altitude to track their quarry as he quickly gathered up the spilled booty and darted off. Their old foe didn't seem panicked, and didn't even stop to curse them in his usual manner. He clearly had a plan and knew exactly where he was fleeing.

"I don't know!" called Chip as he finished reeling in the plunger, using a handle similar to the one Monty was now locking into place on the opposite side of the BFP. The team leader made sure the plunger was seated correctly in the bore before resetting the firing pin. He didn't know how the cannon worked, really; just that when he pulled the trigger it would release the firing pin, which would unlock the main spring and set fly to the huge plunger. Chip looked down at the maze below, searching for his target, but Fat Cat seemed to have disappeared.

"Where'd he go?" Chip asked, baffled. It didn't seem like they could lose track of a large cat who was decked out in a bright red coat and cap and running around inside of a dank, colorless alley.

"I saw him go into that T intersection there," said Dale, pointing to the junction of an alley and a little used back street. "But he didn't go anywhere else, or we would have seen him!"

"Lot 'o cover!" Observed Zipper, noting two large dumpsters, a half disassembled table and an old couch that littered the area. "Hiding?"

Gadget set the Plane into a hovering pattern thirty feet above the intersection and took a look for herself. She didn't like what she saw. "I don't know guys," she said, warily, "Fat Cat doesn't hide. Not from rodents. He's probably hoping we come close enough to wherever he is to ambush us."

"You're probably right Gadget, but we can't just sit up here and give him time to figure out an escape." Chip said, "We have to flush him out. He might leave the goods behind if we keep the upper hand. They're slowing him down."

None of the Rangers had ever seriously thought that they could capture and hold Fat Cat. Where would they keep him?

"Alright," said Monty, grinning over his shoulder at Chip, "What'd ya have in mind pally?"

Chip took a moment to look around the area, saw something interesting, then smiled at his friend and pulled his hat down tighter on his head. "Okay, here's the plan…"

-

"Why do I pay those idiots, those incompetents, those lame brained lay-abouts?" Fat Cat crouched between the wall of one of the buildings and a dumpster. He'd been waiting five minutes for his henchmen to arrive and had spent most of that time listing each one of their individual faults. Those meddling rodents were still flying around up above; he could hear the distinctive sound of their flying machine even though he couldn't see it.

An idea for distracting or disabling them had come to mind, but he needed more than his own two paws to accomplish the feat, and his worthless, lazy, no good employees were… coming up the street, not bothering with stealth as they gasped for air, struggling under the weight of their own toy bags.

"It's the Rescue Rangers!" Fat Cat cringed at Mepp's grating warning. So much for the element of surprise, he thought, and leaped atop the dumpster. The troops were about where he'd estimated them to be from Mepp's shout; right next to another trash bin.

"Goons!" He shouted at the top of his lungs. "Disassemble that dumpster lid and hold it up; and get something heavy from the bin!" Fat Cat jumped back down and grabbed the bag before running out to meet with his gang, which was pulling one of the black plastic lids off of the nearest dumpster. He looked up and saw the flying machine rounding about and the large mouse, Moony or something, swiveling that cursed plunger gun to bear on the ground bound animals.

The lid came off its hinges after being subjected to a bout of chewing by Snout and a round of violent pounding by the others. It slid to the ground with a wobbly crash. Fat Cat grabbed the edge and flipped it up in front of him just in time to intercept the huge plunger that had been fired (again!) at his esteemed person.

Growling, the large Tom reached around his shield and yanked on the rope connecting the plunger to the cannon. There was a brief commotion in the air, and then the rope went slack in his paws. He looked around the lid and saw that the big mouse had cut the line after Fat Cat's strong pull had nearly caused the flying machine to crash into one of the buildings. The feline allowed himself a short, satisfied grin. That would deprive them of their best weapon for the time being.

"Here, Boss," Wart simpered from somewhere near Fat Cat's elbow, "Is this big enough?"

Fat Cat looked down and saw Wart standing next to a mostly empty steel can; an old paint can. "It'll do," he said, shortly, although in truth he was impressed that they'd found something useful right away. "You and the others grab those cinder blocks by that doorway," he indicated a stack of crumbling concrete blocks that were stacked up by the backdoor of a Chinese restaurant, "and set them on either end of this lid so that it's wedged tightly."

He took hold of the can as his gang scrambled to do his bidding and risked another look around the lid to scan the rooftops and sky. The bleach bottle was still up there, hovering, and it looked like its occupants were distracted, looking the other way, down the street. It was perfect!

The lid was wedged as tightly as possible, and Fat Cat ordered his minions to pull the top back towards the street. He even added his own strength to the endeavor before laying the can along the lip and ordering the others to let go. The lid sprung forward, catapulting the paint can up and towards the odd looking plane. It had hit its apex and was starting to come down, gathering momentum and was a direct line to connect with the Rescue Rodents when the pilot finally noticed the attack.

Fat Cat thought he heard an alarmed shout as the flying machine swerved up and away, almost, but not quite avoiding the speeding paint can. There was a sharp sound, plastic cracking, and a mechanical grinding noise before the vehicle lurched away, settling awkwardly on the ledge of one of the buildings that surrounded Fat Cat and his gang.

Smiling as his followers cheered, Fat Cat almost missed another sound that came from further up the alley. A faint squeaking came from the direction that the Ranger's had been looking just a moment before, it sounded like rusty hinges swinging open.

Snout squinted, watching an old metal gate open up into the street. There was a small sign hung over it, reading "East Side Animal Shelter: Keep Gate Closed at All Times"

"Oh… uh-oh," Fat Cat breathed as a wave of barking bounded off of the walls. He saw two chipmunks scamper out onto the gate and wave at him merrily before a dozen dogs, ranging from German Shepherds to Pekingese Poodles exploded into the alley. They spotted the large cat down the way and surged forward like a tide.

"Retreat!" Fat Cat yelled back at his toadies as he ran past them, "And don't forget your bags!"

They had a head start, and they needed every inch. 

To Be Continued…


	2. Chapter 2

**Operation Santa Claws** Part 2 

"I'm not sure how much longer we can stay here." Gadget said as she struggled with the Plane's controls. "That paint can damaged something, maybe the port side control wires, and the wings are starting to mistime their beats!"

Chip was frustrated. He and Dale had gotten the drop on Fat Cat and his gang, but not before the Ranger Plane had taken a bad hit. They'd chased the fleeing felons back to the Happy Tom Cat Food factory and watched as its heavy doors finally stopped the last of their canine allies. By then the Plane was making some very alarming sounds and Gadget had asked to set down so she could get a good look at what has hurt and perhaps do a field repair. The problem was that even if they set down on one of the other buildings that were adjacent to the factory, they could only see one or two of the exits that led out of Fat Cat's headquarters, and Chip was sure that the criminal cat was planning to do something with those toys besides add to his hypothetical doll collection. Staying airborne meant that they could cover all the bases.

Still, if Gadget was worried…

"Set her down on that building." He said, pointing at an aluminum processing plant that offered the best view of the area besides the Happy Tom building. "We'll just have to hope that they come out somewhere we can see them."

"Roger!" Gadget replied with clear relief, "heading down."

Dale looked out over the cityscape as they made their landing. The last rays of the setting sun were fading over the horizon. "You know," he said, "if this is going to be a stake-out, we might need some blankets or somethin'."

Zipper, who had warmed up considerably after picking the lock on the Animal Shelter gate only to start shivering again on the jerky chase that had followed, nodded vigorously.

"Blankets in the emergency kit, Gadget luv?" Monty asked as they touched down on the black shingle roof. He was already thinking about the stash of cheese that he had tucked away inside of the kit.

"Yep," she replied, already out of the cockpit and removing the covering that protected the port wing's spring assembly. "And the telescope mount is in there too, Chip. You and Dale can set it up wherever you need it."

The two chipmunks helped Monty pull out gray blankets and spread them over the Plane's seats before taking a few metal rods and mounting brackets and assembling them near the edge of the building, finally lugging the telescope that was stowed under the back seat over to the rig and setting up their spy operation.

Dale was disappointed to be missing out on classic holiday television programming and Zipper was feeling more like an ice cube than a fly, but neither complained as they settled in for the wait. Chip was feeling a little bit guilty that his zeal had, again, interrupted his friend's plans and Gadget was beginning to wonder if they'd be walking home. Only Monty was feeling anything close to Christmas bliss as he devoured the cheddar that he had dug out of a brown paper bag, but in a testament to their dedication to their jobs, none of the Rangers even considered the notion of packing up and calling it quits.

-

"I hate people who take their jobs too seriously…" Snout gripped as he sat at a drafty window watching the Rescue Rangers watch the casino.

Wart looked up from the package he was wrapping, the last, thankfully, and smiled. "Hey, at least it's them who're out there freezing, and not us!"

Mepps and Mole didn't contribute to the discussion as Mepps had become hopelessly entangled in string and wrapping paper; Mole was trying to help him loose with limited success. It was at that moment when Fat Cat burst into the room, took one look at the mound of poorly wrapped presents, spared a glance to his tangled troubleshooters and sighed. He would be so glad when this holiday was over and he could start back to hitting his workers when they, well, acted like themselves.

"Snout," he asked, "What are those rodents up to?"

The rat shrugged, "They haven't done much Boss. Maybe that girl mouse is fixing their machine; it's hard to tell since the sun went down, but it's definitely gotten colder. I guess they're sitting around freezing and waiting for us to leave." He said the last word with a smirk, knowing that his boss wouldn't want to be hassled again with dealing with the irritating vigilantes, which meant that Snout would stay warm and dry for the rest of the night even if he did have to stay by the stupid window.

Fat Cat took that opportunity to dash his henchman's hopes by tossing an assortment of green and brown clothing at each of his employees. "Put these on," he said, "and get your bags. I have a mission for you;" he grinned, "Outside."

-

Chip shivered, and found himself thinking more about going over to help Gadget with the repairs than keeping a sharp eye on the factory. He pulled his blanket tight, having already zipped up his flight jacket. Dale was back in the Plane, huddling with Monty and Zipper. It would be Monty's turn at the telescope in a few moments, which was good because Chip was having a difficult time holding the device steady.

Even so, it was almost impossible to miss the parade that suddenly strutted out of the factory and onto the street below. Chip swiveled and focused on four figures, all dressed in green and brown vests, hats and tights, lugging bulging bags over their shoulders and… singing. The chipmunk blinked, scarcely able to believe his ears as the faint sound of Christmas carols being sung enthusiastically off key wafted up to the fifth story rooftop. No one would ever mistake Wart, Snout, Mole and Mepps for a church choir.

"Wow, sounds like they've had too much punch…" Dale said interestedly, having appeared at Chip's side after he too had heard the fractured notes floating on the wind. "What're they doin'?"

"Beats me," Chip answered, "But it looks like they're moving their loot again. We've got to catch them! Without Fat Cat there we can probably recover that stuff and find out why they stole it in the first place. Gadget!" He ran from the edge to the Plane, where the young mechanic was chest deep into the gearbox. "Gadget, what's the situation; can we take off soon?"

"Nuh-huh," the mouse grunted, unable to turn around and face her teammate, "It'll be at least an hour, maybe two. I've got to find some J-B Weld… oh, hey, so that's where that went! I thought I'd lost this sprocket. Well, I suppose I did lose it, since I didn't know where it was, but golly, why are these parts always in the last place I look?"

"Uhm," said Chip, unsure if she was talking to him or going on as she was apt to do. He chose not to unravel that particular mystery in favor of jumping into more immediate action and some warming exercise. "Monty, Zipper! Get the crossbow, some rope and some plungers. Dale!" He turned around to find his best friend standing nose to nose with him, "Oh, sorry; you and I are going to go roof jumping. We'll get ahead of them while Monty and Zipper close in from behind and catch 'em between us!"

Dale grinned, glad of a bit of warming adventure, and saluted, "Sure thing, Chipper!"

Monty and Zipper vaulted over the side of the Plane, landing next to the chipmunks. The mouse and the fly were loaded down with a crossbow, yards of rope and six extra plunger harpoons. "Loaded for bear!" Zipper squeaked, grinning in anticipation.

"Right-o, lads!" Monty cried, "Let's deck their halls!"

The four friends rushed away with a heartfelt, "Rescue Ranger's Away!"

A few moments of cold silence settled in on the rooftop, only to be broken by a clank and a muffled voice speaking crossly, "Oh shoot," Gadget grumbled, "Of course that's going to be brittle if it sets in these temperatures. Can one of you guys get my oil lamp?"

"Guys?"

-

Fat Cat watched as his merry band turned the corner, followed shortly thereafter by a smaller group of equal numbers. He looked up to the top of the building that the Ranger's had settled on. The mouse girl, the inventor of all the various contraptions that had helped to foil his plans again and again, she was up there alone. Probably she was working on the flying machine… distracted.

He shook his head, dismissing the half formed plan. It was born partly from the rumblings of his empty stomach anyway, and Fat Cat, as much as he enjoyed the finest foods, did not approve of falling prey to the sin of gluttony. Besides, he'd already promised himself a birthday present…

The clock on the wall read the time to be eight thirty in the evening and the thermometer next to it suggested that he get a move on. Quickly, he ran downstairs and began pushing the shopping cart that the others had loaded with one enormous burlap sack.

Chuckling, he began to sing as he pushed the cart out of the factory and down the street, "Here comes Santa Claws, here comes Santa Claws…"

-

Monterey pulled the knot tight, eliciting a gasp from his four captives. He smiled as the nearest, Snout, and said, "'tis a Nottingham Knuckle Breaker; learned it from Sir Edward Twistthumb. His family is known throughout the world for tying the most impossible knots!"

Snout just sighed. He'd _really _wanted the day off…

"Hey," Chip said angrily when he opened one of the bags and dumped out its contents, "This is packing foam!"

"So is this!" Dale said, upending another bag. "What's the big idea?"

Monty cringed, realizing that they'd been had, and looked at the prisoners for any trace of smugness, but found none. The other animals just looked tired and vaguely humiliated to be tied up in the middle of Rally Alley while wearing elf costumes; all except for Mole, who looked content, and was smiling a happy, if stupid smile.

"Wait," Zipper gasped, "Gadget!"

Chip sucked in a sharp breath when the realization hit him as well. "We left her there! What if Fat Cat-"

"The Boss won't bother the pretty lady." Said Mole.

"What?" All four of the Rangers gave the dull creature their undivided attention.

Mole kept smiling that happy smile, "The Boss is off doing nice things, and I helped. I'll get a candy bar!"

The Ranger's looked at each other, than back at Mole.

"What!"

-

He hefted the sack over his shoulder one more time. It was considerably lighter now that he'd made all but one of his stops. The kittens of Cat Alley had been delighted by the stuffed mice and catnip flavored pounce springs that he'd left for them. Of course, they being cats, he had not been able to, nor had he tried to sneak up on them to leave the gifts anonymously. Fat Cat was something of a celebrity there anyway, having used his wits and natural, cattish abilities to carve out of the tough city a luxurious life for himself. The gifts had just helped to ingrain his image onto the minds of the up and coming generations.

The scratching posts and canned tuna he'd left at the Animal Shelter (where the staff had worked late in order to find and recapture all of those murderous mutts) would give some comfort to his compatriots who were behind bars. He'd also dropped off a huge sack of Gourmet's Best Crunchy Cat Food at the home of old Mrs. Loon Loopy, the neighborhood's resident cat lady, who kept nearly fifty cats in her house.

All of that had been to increase his name recognition in the area and develop loyalty and good feelings amongst his near equals, and, perhaps, because he remembered growing up as a kitten with naught to play with but his mother's tail. This last stop was different; it was different because Fat Cat wasn't entirely sure why he was making it. He looked up at the sign that stood next to a medium sized brick building.

It read: "St. Andrew's home for Orphaned Boys and Girls"

The paint on the sign had faded a bit more since his last visit in August, but other than that the orphanage looked the same as when he had sunned himself on its steps so many years ago, before a young Aldrin Klordane picked him up and took him away when the young man had walked out of those doors for the last time. Fat Cat shook away the nostalgia that threatened to fall over him and took out his List. On it there were thirteen names written in green ink, and one in red. Although Fat Cat knew about the last one, he'd paid informants to get information about the rest. Parting with perfectly good tuna was never easy for the big cat, and he hoped the information that they'd gathered for him was accurate. For their sakes…

There was a smaller door built into the front, a doggie door the human's called it; but Fat Cat didn't let his mind dwell on that small injustice, opting to set his bag down outside of the little flap, it was too large to pull through the small opening, and ducked into the warm interior. The foyer smelled like pine-sol and feather dusters, making him sneeze once. The sound seemed loud in the darkened, quiet room.

After listening to hear if he'd attracted any attention, Fat Cat began pulling wrapped gifts out of the bag and stacking them on the floor, quickly emptying the sack and pulling it inside as well. He then refilled the bag, took out his List, a small, crude map, and set right to work.

The office was locked, but it was a snap to pick the simple mechanism and let the door creak open enough to slip through. The name on the desk did not match any of those on his List, nor did the gift that he pulled out of the sack look like any of the others. It was well wrapped, with nice, crisp paper and a colorful bow. Fat Cat had stolen and wrapped it himself days ago, and put it in the bag with the others only after his gang had left on their caroling trip a few hours before. It was also the only present without a note attached to it.

Fat Cat leaped on top of the desk, disrupting some paperwork, and set the present down next to the computer keyboard. He gave the worn, wooden chair that sat behind the desk a short bow. "For the milk, Mrs. Jackson," he said, "and for not noticing me being inside on the cold days."

With that he turned and jumped off of the desk, picked up his bag and began his rounds, matching names with the locations marked on the map. He left through the front less than ten minutes later carrying an empty bag.

Outside it was quiet, with even the normal, nighttime sounds of a large city seemingly muffled by the clear, cold air. What grass that there was stood frozen. Fat Cat took a long, bracing breath of air, letting it stab needles into his lungs before blowing it out in one great foggy mass. As much as he was enjoying the evening, he wasn't as young as he used to be, and the cold was making some of the bruises that he'd been dealt earlier well felt. He started back home, silently blaming the Rescue Rangers for every little pinch and jolt that his body sent into his brain.

It was too bad he couldn't give _them _a Christmas present. He'd…

He stopped, looking at the darkened, looming inspiration that was standing like some ancient monolith on the other side of the street. Everything he knew about those meddlesome miscreants popped into his mind as he stared at the Mall-Wart. Suddenly, the cold didn't seem to bother him anymore.

Grinning, he hurried across the empty street.

-

Zipper was sitting on the Ranger Plane recovering his wind when the Chip, Dale and Monty arrived onto the roof from one of the small, hidden doorways that led to a set of rodent sized stairs. A company, Small Paws Inc. collected scrap aluminum and shavings from the human operation and constructed high quality prosthetic limbs for young animals who'd been maimed in accidents or unsuccessful attacks by predators. The night manager had let them in at the ground floor, saving the three Rangers from having to use the plunger harpoon to attach ropes to each eave and climb five stories.

Instead, all three seemed to have sprinted up every flight of stairs, with Chip arriving first, panting and resting his hands over his head before Dale nearly ran him over, tangling both chipmunks into a knot of arms and legs that flopped over onto the black shingles. Neither seemed inclined to get up anytime soon. So, when Monty stumbled through the door, puffing and shaking, he failed to notice the heaving mass of fur and stumbled right over it, falling and landing on his large belly.

The three rodents gave one short, suffering groan. Zipper sighed, wondering what it was like to be a slave to gravity.

"Gosh," Gadget, looking grease stained and grimy when she poked her head up from tinkering with the Ranger Plane's motor, "What happened to them, Zipper?"

Zipper shrugged, smiled, and flew off to revive his teammates. Gadget had been fine when he'd flown up to check on her. If any of the others had been thinking they could have waited two minutes for him to report back, but they'd all worked themselves into such a tizzy over the idea that Moll _might _have been lying and worrying over what _could _have happened to their beloved teammate that they'd all stormed up the building like they were sacking a medieval keep.

Gadget would have been touched if she had known, but none of them, not even Zipper, would ever admit to such an embarrassing mistake.

Instead, she finished making the last adjustments to the Plane, snapped the access panel shut and called out to the others, "Okay, guys, the Plane is in tip-top shape again. I even had time to make some modifications!"

Chip and Dale, who had just regained their feet and were helping Monty to stand, felt their legs turn to rubber and the three crashed down again, bringing Gadget bounding over the top of the Plane and to their sides.

"Oh, gosh!" She said, scrambling to look them over for injuries, "Are you guys alright?"

Monty coughed, once, and gave her a weak smile, "Fine, luv, fine; just a bit woozy after that stair exercise. We'll be fine, right boys?"

"Fine," came the muffled reply.

"Fine," said Gadget, blinking, "I mean, okay! So, now what? Zipper told me you'd caught a group of Fat Cat's henchmen, are we going to look for him now?"

"No,"

Everyone looked at Chip, shocked, but he continued on, straightening his jacket and hat as he spoke, "They didn't tell us where he was going; I don't think they knew. We only know that he sent them out as decoys, so he's probably not even in the factory or the casino and even if he was we can't get in without some sort of disguise or some heavy equipment. We can investigate this after more information becomes available, but for now we've been up all day, been on a chase, were attacked by an improvised garbage trebuchet, went on another chase, froze, chased a the worst caroling group in history and run up a very tall building."

"And you, Gadget," he said, taking the opportunity to step close to her and wipe some grease off of her nose with two fingers, "you've practically rebuilt the Ranger Plane. I say we've done enough today; I say we go home. It is Christmas Morning after all!"

The others let out a hearty shout of agreement, piled into the Ranger Plane, and took off for the Park, the largest oak tree in said park, and their warm, comfortable beds.

-

Will Tucker awoke to the sound of pleased whispering and the soft glow of one of the two reading lamps that were in his room. He pushed up from under his warm blankets to see two of the other kids who lived at the orphanage, Matt, who like Will had just turned eight, and Jamie, a nine year old girl. The three friends generally stuck together since they were the youngest kids at St. Andrews, but Jamie shared a room with an older girl.

"What are you two doing?" He asked quietly, slipping out of bed onto the cold wood floor and walking over to get a better look at their soft lit, smiling faces. Will looked at his clock, "It's three in the morning!"

"Keep your voice down!" Said Jamie; she held up a brand new jump-rope, "Look at this. It was next to my bed when I got up to go to the bath room, wrapped up in the box and everything."

"It even had a note, like mine!" Matt smiled, holding up a Nuff football and a small piece of paper that had been folded up, it seemed, to fit in the box that was now lying on the floor next to a wad of news paper.

"Yours?" Will asked, frowning, "Where did they come from?"

"Read this," said Jamie, handing Will another once-folded paper.

The note was written in small, very small, but elegant handwriting. Will could barely make it out. It read:

**Dear Jamie,**

**I hope this jump rope will replace the old one that was stolen by that vacuous canine. You might do well to give your dinner scraps to an animal who is not inclined to such rambunctious behavior. Being generous with your leftover fish will win you many friends, should you chose to part with such fine cuisine.**

**Wishing you a very Merry Christmas,**

**SC**

Matt's note read much the same, except that it reminded them of the tennis ball that had been carried off by an enthusiastic Labrador. Will gave the notes back to their owners with a puzzled look. "This has to be some kind of joke, right?"

Jamie shrugged, "Who around here has the money to buy us presents, especially if it's just a joke?" She reasoned. "Hey, where's yours?"

"I don't think I got one," Will said, looking back at his bed and seeing not one newspaper wrapped box.

"What's that then?" Matt asked, pointing at Will's night stand.

Will saw the brown paper bag that was sitting on top of the night stand. He hadn't noticed it before; it had a note pinned to its front. Collecting the bag and separating the note from the paper, Will sat back down next to his friends. He looked at the note. It had the same, tiny handwriting as the other two. He began to read.

**Dear Will,**

**You have been a bad boy, Will. You kicked a cat, perhaps you'll remember, back in August. This cat, whose name is Haddock, did you no harm, but you lashed out at him just the same. While I have not seen or heard of any other such indiscretion rest assured that I shall know if such an incident occurs in the future. I have my eye on you Will; do not test my ire. Your gift, a hand-me-down suitable for a naughty boy, will show you what happens to objects that incur my wrath.**

**Perhaps you should make a New Year's resolution to be kinder to animals.**

**Wishing you a very Merry Christmas and an educational New Year,**

**Santa Claws**

The paper had three very fine cuts just below the signature, like it had been scratched.

Will looked at his friends, who were looking at him with wide eyes. He swallowed, suddenly wanting a glass of water. "This is crazy! You two saw what happened. That thing was crawling with fleas, and it wouldn't stop following me!"

"Well," Jamie said, giving her jump rope a second glance. "Whoever it is didn't do anything to you, right? So, just make sure you're really nice to any cats that happen to come around."

Matt looked at the bag, "What's in it?" He asked.

Will peaked into the bag, looked puzzled, and then reached in to withdraw a very ragged toy mouse which looked like it had been put through a blender.

He looked at his friends, "I hope I get adopted out of state…"

-

The sun was just beginning to break over the east, shinning upon the frosted city and making it gleam like the promises of Christmas Morn. Fat Cat sat in his office enjoying the warm air pumping out of the vent above him, gently blowing the fuzzy ball of his cap, which was set on his desk, next to a mug of warm milk. He'd worked hard the night before, perhaps harder than he had in many, many years; however, thinking about the reactions of those whom he had bestowed his generosity when they found their gifts made it all seem, well, easy.

The others had crawled back just an hour ago, looking more than a little tattered and confessing that they'd been bested by the Rangers. Their surprise when he had not berated them for their failure was also enjoyable and Fat Cat began to wonder if there was something to the whole philanthropist gig.

"I wonder," he said, glancing at his gang as they sprawled on the chairs and couch, "I wonder if this is a sign."

None of the others seemed inclined to respond, which was fine as he was a better conversation partner anyway. "Is there something to be gained by giving without receiving something of equal or greater value in return? And, even though I deserve the best of Everything, do I truly need it all? Can spiritual fulfillment be achieved in ways other than crushing my enemies and taking all that the world has to offer?"

The others were now staring at him, unsure if this was their boss, Fat Cat, or some strange intruder who had somehow replaced him.

Fat Cat paid them no mind. "Perhaps, given that this is a day associated with possibilities and new beginnings, maybe I should consider taking this operation in a new direction…"

He fell silent, considering the issue, the angles, and the way that the world revolved around him as only a cat can manage, with singular grace.

All of the others were looking at each other, confused, except for Mole, who'd had another thought, and spoke up quietly.

"Gee, Boss," he asked, his black eyes shining, "Are you gonna give up stealing and stuff?"

Fat Cat looked across his desk, surveying his lackeys. They were looking at him with awed expressions now full of hope and admiration; Mole's simple question had set something lose in their souls, something long neglected. A strange feeling began to grow in his heart, and he looked away from the others, flexing the claws of his left paw and examining them. He began to speak, slowly and more to himself than to anyone else.

"I could, you know." He said, softly. "The casino brings in more than enough to keep us all up in luxurious style. It would be nothing to give away ten percent or more of my profits to those who are downtrodden and broken hearted, and become the very essence of what this symbolizes." he indicated the scuffed up, slightly battered Red Suit that he still wore before beginning to clean his claws with a small knife.

"Indeed, it could be that the day would come that I, Fat Cat, be hailed as a saint amongst cats; recognized as one who does not Need to possess all the things that he deserves, but who will gladly give away the last carp in my cap to those unfortunates who scrounge for the cast off leftovers that the humans leave in Cat Alley. I could promote understanding and unity between the animals of this city, and they would praise me and lift me up as a shining example of how good can overcome all odds!"

His voice was starting to rise, and he raised a defiant fist up towards the ceiling. "Even the Rescue Rangers would respect and admire me! They and I, together, could lift up this city and set on a course towards a golden age, where man and mouse, cat and dog, and even actors and stage hands live in harmony and peace!" Fat Cat leapt out of his chair, shouting the last words, which boomed and echoed inside of the office. His minions cowered in awe.

The corpulent feline calmed down, leaning back into his well stuffed and expensive chair. He let the silence build in the office while he examined his claws, now gleaming perfection, before turning his head towards the others and grinning his sharpest grin, "But, where's the fun in that?"

THE END… more to follow…


	3. Operation Santa Claws, Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The Rangers arrived back at their tree two hours before dawn. They all helped get the vehicle into the mailbox that served them for a hanger before stumbling down to their own rooms and crashing to sleep. Dale opted to sleep on the couch, feeling that the journey to the top bunk in his and Chip's room was too far to travel.

Thus it was that he was woken by a vigorous knocking at their front door. Late morning sunlight was streaming through the windows and the tree was silent except for the door. None of the others were up yet. Dale's stomach growled.

The racket coming from the door was very loud, so Dale went to see who needed help. He opened the door and saw a large crow standing on the tree branch with a large package held under one wing.

"You da Rescue Rangers?" the bird asked, thrusting a pen and receipt paper at the sleepy chipmunk.

"Uh, yes, well, no," Dale muttered, trying to get his eyes to focus at the same time, "I mean, yes, this is the headquarters of the Rescue Rangers and I'm one of 'em."

The crow seemed uninterested in semantics, "We got this package dropped off at our office early dis morning, paid out plus some extra with written instructions that it goes to 'the Rescue Rangers, somewhere in the Park'".

"What is it?" Dale asked, suddenly curious. All of the Rangers had put the gifts that they had made or purchased for their teammates under the big reef that was hung in the corner of the front room, so it couldn't' be a late gift from any of them.

Shrugging, the crow took the receipt, now sporting Dale's scrawling signature, "Don't know buddy. We just deliver 'em, we don't open 'em. Can you get this inside?" The box was much larger than their front door.

Dale eyed the package, and then nodded, "Yeah, we've got a hanger that it'll fit into."

"Okay, well then I'm off. Merry Christmas buddy!" the crow said as he took off into the clear, blue sky.

"Who was that?" Gadget's voice turned Dale around. She stood behind him with Chip and Monterey, all in their night clothes and looking a little rumpled but rested. Chip pointed at the box that sat outside, "What's that?"

"That was a delivery crow, and this, um," Dale paused, "I don't know what this is. He said it was for us though."

They all stepped outside to see the package. It was just a generic brown cardboard box, with no markings on it except for a couple of stamps from the delivery service.

"Well," said Monty, "let's see what's in it!"

He jumped on top of the box and deftly tore open its folding lid. Then he and the boys jumped in and began tossing packing peanuts everywhere while Gadget smiled at the sight of their enthusiasm. Zipper arrived just in time to hear Monty's impressed whistle.

"Crikey! Gadget, you'd better come up here and tell us what this is!"

Exchanging a puzzled glance with Zipper, Gadget climbed into the box and let out such a gleeful squeal of delight at the sight that confronted her that a startled Dale jumped into Chip's arms. "This is," she said, quivering excitedly, "this is a Paslode IM100-F12 Gauge Cordless Brad Nailer! It's one of the best small nail guns on the market; it can drive anything from a 5/8'' to 2'' inch nail. Humans use them for molding and working on door casings or panel installations."

The other Rangers looked at each other, but found no answers to their questions.

"Who would give us a nail gun?" Chip asked. Nobody said a word. He looked at Gadget, "Do you know anyone who might have sent this, Gadget?"

He waited for an answer, "Gadget?"

"Huh?" the inventor jumped, trying to hide the fact that she'd been drooling, "No, I don't know anyone who could afford one of these. They're so expensive, especially for us!" she got a dreamy look in her eyes, "Just think of everything I could do with this! It'll be so much easier to secure the support struts for the Ranger Plane and the Ranger Wing, and I'd bet I could make some modifications to the air compressor to make it even more powerful!"

Dale, Monty, Chip and Zipper all glanced at each other at the word, "modifications", but Zipper spotted something before anyone could think of something to say that might curb the young mouse's enthusiasm.

"Hey," he pointed at something near Chip, "a letter."

Chip looked down and saw the wrinkled note. He picked it up and began to read out loud.

_"Dear Rescue Rangers,_

_I hope this gift will provide you all with as many hours of joy and entertainment as I'm sure the knowledge of it being in the hands of your young mechanic will bring to me. I've heard that she can be rather, shall we say, creative with new equipment!_

_Wishing you an eventful Christmas and an exciting New Year,_

_SC"_

Chip, like the other three male Rangers, stared at the note with unblemished horror. As one, they turned to look at Gadget, who was still talking glowingly about her newest acquisition, "… and if we had a better power source I could probably fix it to work on metal too! I'll bet it could shoot through an inch of steel with the right kind of tweaking. Chip, do you think it would be okay to hook into the main line for the fountain?"

She went on, not waiting for or expecting an immediate answer to her question, and Chip seeing that Monty, Dale and Zipper all wore similarly doomed expressions, decided that they were all taking a vacation to Brazil; immediately... 

**Fade out…**


End file.
